Chapter 395: "Hey, is it okay if I don't go to work?"

The atmosphere on the film set cooled down from the explosive laughter of “eating the lemon,” fast as the late spring chill wind of March in the capital.

Gu Zhiyuan’s expression was solemn.

He waved his hand, and set assistant Old Zhang immediately had people remove that box of lemons, replacing it instead with a set of a worn-out single bed and a simple dressing table.

The artificial rain machine began to operate.

The sound of water crashing down on the abandoned textile factory’s tin roof, on this gloomy afternoon, created a feeling of isolation.

“Scene 52, interior, day.” Gu Zhiyuan’s voice rang out amidst the rain. “This is the core dialogue scene of the entire film. Jiang Ci, Chen Yi, get ready.”

Jiang Ci sat on that moldy single bed, holding in his hand that copy of Actor’s Self-cultivation that had been thumbed through so much its edges were curled.

He was still adjusting his breathing; the sour punch from that lemon hadn’t completely faded yet.

At the doorway, Chen Yi, wearing a sequined showgirl dress, leaned against the doorframe.

She had an unlit prop cigarette dangling from her mouth.

This scene was about the “final parting.”

“Action!”

The camera pushed in.

Jiang Ci looked up, watching Chen Yi putting on her shoes.

He tried to muster the emotion, his tone light and breezy: “Hey, what if you didn’t go to work?”

Chen Yi stopped her movement, turning her head to the side.

She gave Chen San—that face still handsome despite being greased up—a once-over from head to toe.

“Hah.” Chen Yi let out a derisive snort.

The disdain in her eyes was practically overflowing the screen: With what? You? A cannon fodder extra who even has to fight for boxed lunches, acting like some domineering CEO here?

That sense of disconnect made the entire picture crumble.

One was acting in Meteor Garden, the other was acting in A Record of Surviving at Rock Bottom.

“Cut!!”

The script in Gu Zhiyuan’s hand slammed onto the muddy ground.

“Jiang Ci! What are you doing?!”

Gu Zhiyuan charged into the rain curtain, pointing at Jiang Ci’s nose:

“What are you acting as? A Casanova? Or a philanthropist?”

“Do you have any money in your pocket? Does that shabby bed of yours even have one clean blanket?”

The crew members exchanged uneasy glances.

“What is Chen San?” Gu Zhiyuan grabbed the collar of Jiang Ci’s ill-fitting suit, shaking him forcefully,

“A dog, wanting to keep its only beloved master, would it dare to wag its tail?”

“Again!”

Lin Wan stood behind the monitor, arms crossed, fingers lightly tapping against her elbow.

She didn’t step forward to defuse the situation, just watched quietly.

Jiang Ci was released, staggering back a step.

He didn’t argue back, nor did he get angry.

He lowered his head to look at his empty pockets, then looked at that so-called Actor’s Self-cultivation.

“Chen San is a dog…” Jiang Ci murmured to himself.

He silently walked to a corner and crouched down.

No one knew what he was thinking.

Sinking himself into that deep sea named “Hunger” and “Incompetence.”

Five minutes later.

Jiang Ci stood up.

His spine was a bit more hunched than before, his originally straight posture now seeming somewhat stooped.

Those eyes that had once made the entire internet’s heart break in The Lurker,

Now had all their light extinguished, leaving only a layer of murky gray.

He gave Gu Zhiyuan an extremely slow “OK” sign.

“All departments, ready.” Gu Zhiyuan’s voice lowered. “Action.”

This time, Jiang Ci didn’t move.

He sat by the bed, listening to the sound of Chen Yi’s high heels clicking on the cement floor.

One step, two steps.

Only when Chen Yi was about to step out the door did he stand up as if electrocuted.

He “dragged” his steps chasing after her.

Leaning against the rusty doorframe, watching Chen Yi’s back in the heavy rain.

His lips trembled several times, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, but no sound came out.

“Hey!”

This one word, his voice cracked.

Chen Yi stopped walking, turning back.

Raindrops dripped from the ends of her hair. She had originally prepared a mocking expression,

But when she turned her head, it froze on her face.

She saw Jiang Ci’s eyes.

Those eyes were frighteningly red, bloodshot all over.

He was avoiding her gaze.

He was looking at her shoes, at the puddles on the ground, at the rain in the sky—anywhere but her face.

That feeling of “wanting to ask someone to stay but knowing you’re not worthy” smashed hard into Chen Yi’s chest.

“What if you didn’t go to work… would that be okay?”

Chen Yi was stunned.

According to the script, she was supposed to mock him.

“If I don’t go to work, will you support me?”

This line should have been teasing, playful.

But at this moment, wrapped in that oppressive atmosphere, Chen Yi’s voice actually began to tremble.

In front of the monitor, Gu Zhiyuan bit down hard on his finger.

The entire set fell silent.

The sound of rain became background noise.

This was a long silence.

A full ten seconds.

This wasn’t forgetting lines.

Chen San was calculating.

Calculating the few dozen dollars in his pocket,

Calculating that boxed lunch he just fought for,

Calculating his cheap, worthless self-respect.

Finally, he reached the answer—he couldn’t afford to support her.

But he still wanted to gamble.

Jiang Ci raised his head, his gaze finally colliding with Chen Yi’s line of sight.

But the moment they made contact, he flinched again.

Immediately after, he smiled.

The corners of his mouth pulled up with great effort, but his brows and eyes collapsed.

“I…”

Jiang Ci leaned forward half a step, then shrank back as if scalded.

“Will support you.”

These three words weren’t shouted.

Chen Yi looked at the man before her, wearing a dirty suit, his face covered in grease and dust.

That “I’ll support you” stabbed straight into her heart.

She remembered many years ago, there was also a young man, under a leaky roof,

Who had said something similar to her in the same clumsy yet sincere tone.

And back then, she, just like in the script, had chosen to turn and leave.

“You…”

“You idiot!”

Then she turned and ran into the pouring rain as if fleeing for her life.

The disheveledness and tremor in that retreating figure were so real it was startling.

[Ding!]

[Detecting extreme heartbreak!]

[Source: Chen Yi.]

[Heartbreak Value +555!]

The system’s notification exploded in Jiang Ci’s mind, but he couldn’t hear it at all.

He was still leaning against the doorframe, maintaining that ridiculous posture, looking at the empty street in the heavy rain.

“It’s good…”

Gu Zhiyuan’s voice was trembling.

He forgot to call cut.

Until Chen Yi ran out of the camera’s frame,

He was still frozen in place, his face covered with who knows whether it was rainwater or tears.

No one applauded.

There were only successive sounds of people drawing in sharp breaths, and the suppressed sobs of a few emotional female set assistants in the corner.

Lin Wan took off her glasses, took out a tissue, and slowly wiped the corners of her eyes.

“Lunatics,” she cursed under her breath, but her tone was full of pride. “Both of them are lunatics.”

Jiang Ci’s strength gave out, and he slowly slid down the doorframe to sit on the ground.

“Director Gu…”

Jiang Ci leaned against the wall, his gaze hollow.

“This time… did it look like a dog?”

Gu Zhiyuan rushed out from behind the monitor and hugged Jiang Ci.

“It did! It absolutely did!”

Gu Zhiyuan was incoherent, the fervor in his eyes almost blazing,

“We’ll keep this take! No! This take is legendary! No one is allowed to touch it!”

The rain was still falling.

But everyone knew that in those few minutes just now,

They had personally witnessed the birth of a classic.